It Doesn't Count
by Lanie Kay-Aleese
Summary: Marauders Era. Sixty seconds doesn't feel that terribly long when you're kissing the person you secretly love.


Wow, so basically, I wondered what it would be like to write in the second person. Then I wanted to make a brief character study for Mssr. Moony. And then this happened. Do tell me if you enjoyed it, and I'll do more like it.

**When It Doesn't Count**  
by Lanie Kay-Aleese

You refused to kiss him. At first.

He tucked his long, black hair behind his ear, rambling that it was bound to happen if you kept playing the game, (_"and you ought to just do it and trust me, Moony, it's really not so horrid, and it's not for such a terribly long time."_)

But really, you think that the only terrible part about having to kiss him is that you're kissing _him,_ and that he holds your face in his hands.

It's terrible because you feel his hands first, the callused pads of his fingers as they fall onto the sides of your face. Then you feel his breath, as he is lifting up your chin. All of your skin seems so sensitive right before he finally kisses you. The moment you touch, it burns. And then it's warm. You feel his mouth, and you taste his alcohol, and then it's impossible to say just what it is you're feeling because you're not sure if you've begun to feel so much that you can't even understand it.

So you're feeling, and that's terrible, because he's so good at making you feel.

And they're counting.

_"... Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven. Fifty-six..."_

You tune them out.

After all, you've dreamed about this. You've dreamed of being here, with him, in his lip with your lips pressed together. The first time you imagined it, you were barely in your fourth year. At first you didn't even admit to yourself that you were dreaming of him. And you didn't admit that your dreams had been sexual, either. You tried to rationalize it, to reason it out by overactive hormones, like the books said; or maybe you were just dreaming in symbols; or maybe it was the wolf and it wasn't you - it was something random, something developmentally _normal_.

Then one day, when it was so boring on that Hogsmeade weekend and you all came back nearly broke from Zonko's - or at least, out of pocket money - he brought some hawked porno magazines out of his trunk, and passed them around your dorm. James thought it was surprising that they didn't move and a waste of time, but even so, _he_ insisted that the muggle magazines were better than the Wizarding ones, ("...and Moony, how about you give it a 'shot'?") Even though you said you weren't interested, you weren't being honest. After they all went to bed, you took them from his trunk and crept into your bed. You stayed up all night trying to feel something. When you realized what was wrong, that there was something wrong with all of the curves that you couldn't reconcile, you decided that you simply weren't meant to feel.

And now you are feeling, feeling, feeling.

It is dangerous.

_"... twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two..."_

It was his fault.

He was the one who created this stupid game on the eve of graduation. Most of your friends wouldn't even play, so how had he gotten you to do it? Two of your closest friends were already engaged; it seemed to you like nearly everyone was already in a deep romance but you and him. He had never taken his relationships too seriously. You'd never felt that you deserved one, and even so, you only had eyes for him.

And now you have lips for him, and you know why all those girls fall to puddles at his feet, because he is so, so terribly good.

And you are so busy clutching at him, you barely even notice that his arms are tight around your back.

_"Thirteen, twelve, eleven..."_

You don't notice that part. After all, he's begun pressing against you in his starchy jeans. It is such a muggle fashion, you would laugh, and you do into his mouth - just for a moment, before you are preoccupied with how rough he feels in other places.

_"Ten, nine, eight..."_

Is he feeling something? Is he so drunk that he forgot you were you?

Did _you_ forget you were you?

_"Three... Two... One..."_

You try to forget. Forget everything that has happened but this last moment. With your hands tangled in his silky hair. And if anyone asks about that later, it's because you were drunk. And if he wonders about the tension later, you were drunk, so it's okay. But he's already removed himself from you somehow - as if he has remembered who you are, and it's not okay at all.

"_... Zero. Time's up."_

Breaking apart from him is harder than breaking into him. You have to do this on your own, and his hands aren't helping you. But you have to let it end now - everyone is watching, after all, and you don't want to give them the right idea.

Which is the 'wrong idea', actually. Because he's your best friend, and you know that your feelings for him must be wrong. Your _feeling_ is wrong, too.

You break apart.

There is no 'knowing gaze' shared between you. His blue eyes have already turned to his audience, and immediately, he makes some sort of grand bow to them. He finds one face in the crowd and winks, and only then does he return to you and repeats himself (_"Thank you for your services, Mr. Moony."_) And you turn redder. His face is hardly flushed. It takes a moment to realize how close his swollen lips still are to your own.

You know it didn't count as a real kiss, or as a romantic, affectionate kiss, but it didn't stop _them_ from counting.

This time, it is your heart that moves back and breaks apart from him, but hesitantly; replaying each moment in your mind again and again so the details will not fade with time.

You watch him and feel far away. He's laughing across the circle, and makes some gesture with his hands.

The bottle spins again.


End file.
